


l'affetto dei miei quadri

by aquariuslester (geminidaniel)



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF, dreamnotfound - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Renaissance, Artist GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Colorblind GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Historical, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Painting, Renaissance Era, Romance, Tags Are Hard, rich dreamwasfound, so just regular dream ig, title finally isn't a song title, title is italian lmfao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-20 08:40:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30002223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geminidaniel/pseuds/aquariuslester
Summary: it felt like dry horse hair against a dry canvas. it felt like a hunting knife against his paintings. it felt like a splinter in his finger. it felt like the sting of the cold water he bathed in every morning.it felt lonely.what was the point of painting if there was no one to show?---renaissance au; painter!george x patron!dreamchapter titles are italian renaissance paintings
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	l'affetto dei miei quadri

george felt like passing out.

his chair fell back as he stood up suddenly, dropping his brushes against the echoing tile. he moved quickly, his easel rocking slightly and threatening to drop the heavy stretched canvas on the ground with the brushes.

but the easel stayed upright, and george didn't pass out. his feet took him out to his balcony and he let the evening wind caress his cheeks as he gasped for fresh air.

the odor of the pine oil and stiff pigment made him sick to his stomach nowadays. the smell used to excite him. it would make his heart race at the prospect of beginning a new piece and birthing a new creation.

but he felt himself losing what he had. his hands hurt all the time, his throat closed at the smell of the amber oil that he mixed with the paint. his eyes lost track of the lines he was painting and he couldn't distinguish his colors like he used to. he never saw the colors everyone else did, but he was always able to work through it and mask it. he went off of what others told him about the colors.

but he didn't talk to anyone anymore. or no one talked to him.

no one knew his name anymore. he wasn't sure where he had fumbled, but somewhere in the past year, his art wasn't good enough for anyone. no one called for him, no one paid attention to what he was making. it felt like his fault.

it felt like dry horse hair against a dry canvas. it felt like a hunting knife against his paintings. it felt like a splinter in his finger. it felt like the sting of the cold water he bathed in every morning.

it felt lonely.

what was the point of painting if there was no one to show?

\---

"is george up? i'd like to speak to him."

the woman dream was looking at just stared at him silently.

the two maintained eye contact for a few seconds before dream broke it, looking down at the ground in embarrassment before walking into the large stone home.

the walls were decorated with uniform and symmetrical patterns, and the ceiling rose in intricate designs to a sunroof, illuminating the nicely tiled floors. dream fidgeted with his hat in his hands and he grew more anxious with every reverberation his feet made in the empty home.

was george home? was this the wrong location? was he doing the right thing, coming up to see a famous painter in his room and asking for a commission? should he have sent a letter instead?

while in his thoughts, dream heard another set of footsteps coming down the stairs before him.

a man of smaller build took his time walking down the stairs, his tunic wrinkled and stained with oil and color.

george.

"can i help you?"

soft afternoon light from the window behind the painter spread in sharp tendrils from behind his wavy brown hair, illuminating his head in a heavenly glow. if dream could, he would paint that scene. george looked like the leisurely figures on the roof of the sistene chapel, raining their heavenly decadence on church-goers as they spoke to the sky's vault, begging for forgiveness for their earthly, mortal sins.

dream fell silent. the light stole his voice.

"hello?"

his sculpted eyebrows furrowed in confusion, making sharp wrinkles in his fair skin that looked as perfect as his paintings. every line in his face was sharp, every curve natural and blended to the contours of his skin.

he was a walking version of his paintings.

"uh, yeah. i-i wanted to," dream's eyes lost focus before he blinked a few times and shook his head. "i wanted to know if i could... if i could commission a painting? from you?"

george only looked at him in the second, and dream thought he had done something wrong.

"i mean, only if you want to." his voice became higher and his words more rushed. he gripped tighter on the felt of his hat. "i can pay you enough, i promise. i just, i heard you were a good artist. i've looked at a lot of your work, it's incredible. i just needed a portrait done from you, you know?"

he was rambling. his words jumbled together near the end, and his eyes searched frantically for something in george's face.

the artist walked down the rest of the stairs and stood before the patron. he was inches taller than him, and looking up at the man face-to-face felt much more intimidating than being at his height feet away on the stairway. he could read the anxiety in his eyes and the slight movement from his bottom lip indicating he was biting at the insides of his cheeks.

"why are you nervous?" george's voice was gentle and inquisitive. something about the sentiment made dream feel at ease.

"i don't want to bother you."

"why would you be bothering me? it's what i do."

"i thought i'd been too late."

"what?"

the air went silent. they were staring at each other. george's eyes were the color of the cliffs that overlooked the vast barrier of the mediterranean sea, and he noticed that dream's were the color of the dense foliage that hugged the jagged rocks, fed and sustained by the saline blue that seemed to stretch forever into the unknown.

"i'm sorry."

"don't apologize."

"can you do it?"

"of course i can. come up to my room, we can talk about the specifics."


End file.
